


and i'll lay here in your arms

by anoddconstellationofthoughts



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Pillow Fights, Sharing a Bed, jaskier is the crackiest lil bastard and geralt loves it, there were too many beds, with a lil bit of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts/pseuds/anoddconstellationofthoughts
Summary: “So, a king-sized? Or,” Eryk glanced at from where Jaskier was facing them, holding a pamphlet upside down in front of his face as if that would prevent anyone from noticing how hard he was watching Geralt, “a child's bed?”Another middle-aged saleswoman approached the bard.“May I help you, sir?” she asked, one hand hovering above his shoulder, concerned.“No.” Jaskier didn’t hesitate. He lifted the pamphlet to hide his eyes. “I can't read.”modern au. post season one of the netflix show. based off of the prompt"there were so many beds.”chaos ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 145





	and i'll lay here in your arms

**Author's Note:**

> so!! as mentioned in the summary, this is a modern au, meaning that pretty much everything is the same as the netflix show, except it's got modern technology and like. widely common hygiene practices. because why not.
> 
> it takes place about a year after s1 ends, and geralt and jaskier have already reunited and worked their shit out. this is almost entirely fluff and crack.
> 
> enjoy :)

There were so many beds.

There were so many _Goddess forsaken beds._

The store and its sea of mattresses and bedstands and bedframes stretched out before them, and Geralt spent a moment taking in... well, taking in the _all_ of it. The fluorescent lights were aggressive and glaring, illuminating the mess of wildly colored pillows and comforters, standing out against the rest of the white and beige and brown. He thought Jaskier was going to vibrate out of his skin in excitement. 

The witcher was not at all prepared for this. When they’d met in that old tavern in Posada, Geralt had thought he’d been signing up for a bard and PR team all wrapped in one. Later, after that horrible mistake on the mountain with Borch, Geralt had signed up for a boyfriend. Well, _all but g_ _roveled_ is perhaps more accurate, but he’d ended up with a boyfriend regardless. 

And now he had a child.

(Alright, he had a child in Ciri, too, but she was _also_ more or less a mistake (though a well cared for and cherished mistake) and therefore could not be fully counted. She, at least, had endured twelve years of court training and princess pampering and knew how to fool everyone, herself included, into thinking she was closer to twenty than ten.)

A child, who, judging by the mischievous glint in his blue eyes, was up to absolutely no good.

“What are you looking for today, sir?” The scrawny kid crossed his arms in front of his chest. His plastic name tag read, “Eryk,” and his hair was, even by Geralt’s standards, just on the wrong side of long. 

Both witcher and kid ignored Jaskier scooting to the side under the pretense of looking at a large sign over a shelf of pamphlets. The sign said, 

_LOOKING FOR_

**_THE PERFECT MATTRESS?_ **

_SHOP ALL OF KERACK’S FINEST MATTRESSES AT_

**_BORGE’S BEST BEDS_ **

_We promise you won’t regret it!_

A round man, presumably Borge, stood by the letters on the sign, cheerily extending a thumbs up to his audience. Geralt snorted. In all his years of life, some companies had never progressed in the marketing department. 

“We need a new mattress. And bedframe.” 

The kid smirked. “Broke both of them, huh?”

“Er, well,” Geralt shifted on his feet. He had, in fact, broke both of them with Jaskier’s (enthusiastic) help, but he didn’t exactly want to tell the mattress salesman that. “We-”

“Don’t tell me,” Eryk rolled his eyes, “I’m not getting paid enough to care.” 

Geralt barely refrained from barking a surprised laugh. Kids these days. Goddess. 

“So, a king-sized? Or,” Eryk glanced at from where Jaskier was facing them, holding a pamphlet upside down in front of his face as if that would prevent anyone from noticing how hard he was watching Geralt, "a child's bed?”

Another middle-aged saleswoman approached the bard. 

“May I help you, sir?” she asked, one hand hovering above his shoulder, concerned.

“No.” Jaskier didn’t hesitate. He lifted the pamphlet to hide his eyes. “I can't read.” 

The witcher shook his head, eyes smiling where his lips wouldn’t. He turned back to the kid. “No, a king. And don’t call him a child.” He glared threateningly, but Eryk shrugged, unbothered. 

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Perhaps Jaskier’s songs had worked too well.

“So,” Eryk clapped his hands. “King-sized beds. Any particular style or color scheme?” 

“I… don’t know.”

Eryk nodded, light hair moving far too much with the movement. “Well, you’ll be that entire back wall, then.” 

“Hm. Alright.” Geralt glanced at the back wall. “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

It was going to be so hard. There were so many beds. Fuck. How could there possibly be that many kinds of beds?

He sighed, looking back toward the bard and the shelf of pamphlets. “Jaskier, are you co-”

The rest of that sentence was slammed out of him as Jaskier took a flying jump at Geralt. The intent had clearly been to bowl Geralt over into the bed right beside him, but Jaskier evidently had not considered that his boyfriend was, in fact, a very old witcher with very fast reflexes. Somehow, in the split second between noticing Jaskier’s course of action and the actual collision, Geralt managed to twist the bard into his arms bridal style, their noses less than two inches apart.

Jaskier blushed. “Oh. Hello, you.”

His breath smelled of coffee.

The witcher bit the inside of his lips to keep from grinning fondly. “Was this the whole plan?” 

“Uh,” Jaskier leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Geralt’s lips. “I love you?”

The second the last word had slipped out of the bard’s mouth, Geralt flipped him over and dumped him on the bed. Either by the force of the dismount or simple dramatics on Jaskier’s part, he ended up bouncing so hard that he toppled off the side of the bed, sprawling on the floor beside it.

The spluttering hidden by the angle of the bed was rivaled only by the reaction that had followed Geralt’s “like a pie with no filling” comment. The witcher allowed a satisfied smile to creep across his lips.

“Geralt! How _dare_ you, I-”

“What’s this one made out of?” Geralt asked blandly, pressing a hand into the unreasonably squishy mattress.

“Oh, uh,” Eryk, who was still standing beside them, though now a bit further away, managed to pull his eyebrows back down to a logical height. “We call her the Countess. Lotta bounce, that one. Very soft. A good seller for kids and people who don’t have bad backs.”

Jaskier’s head popped up from beside the bed, hair messily strewn over his forehead and eyes wild. “Well, I have a bad back _now,_ thanks to this brute, so-”

Geralt nodded. “Fitting. Very interesting.”

The other sales lady covered her hand with her mouth and slipped into the office by the far wall. When she closed the door, Geralt could hear her hysterical laughter.

“I’m going to look at the king-sized beds,” he announced, heading to the back wall. “We’ll let you know if we have any questions, Eryk.”

“...Okay, sir.”

The scuffling of boots on old worn carpet signaled Jaskier’s arrival at Geralt's side as he twined their fingers together. The witcher raised one pale eyebrow. The bard beamed.

“How much cold brew did you have this morning?”

“Oh, uh,” Jaskier scrunched up his face. “I don’t know. Three?”

"Three what?"

"Oh, ah, just those little 12oz bottles. The ones you keep telling me not to buy."

Geralt exhaled heavily through his nose and led them around a mattress with a hideously quilted bedspread. _“Why.”_

“I like coffee,” the bard answered simply. “You do, too.”

“Mm.”

“You do! Don’t think I don’t see your face after you take a sip of that stupid, sugary, bullshit latte with too much syrup, it’s the same face you make when you come, and I’m probably the continent’s best authority on that, so you better be-”

“I’ll throw you onto a bed again,” Geralt threatened weakly. He hoped his cheeks weren’t as warm as they felt. 

“Oh,” Jaskier smirked, “I guess I’ll just keep going then. It’s such a nice face, your lips part a little, and-”

The way Geralt scooped him up and harshly tossed him onto the nearest bed was decidedly less sexy than what Geralt was sure Jaskier had imagined. But perhaps, Geralt mused, that was part of the charm.

Half an hour later found them on opposite sides of the wall, Geralt near the end after dutifully laying down in every bed to test it, and Jaskier having jumped back into the third one. He was messing with the heating, cooling, and elevation system, giggling maniacally on occasion. 

Geralt looked over to find Jaskier in a sharp V, each side of the bed raised at a 45-degree angle. The bard felt him looking and glanced over, eyes on the same level as his toes. He winked.

“Hey, big fella, like what you see?”

“I’m never talking to you again, Jaskier,” the witcher said, voice impassive.

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier snorted and decreased the angle on his legs. “Remember that time I accidentally stabbed you _after_ a hunt? You didn’t dump me after that, so I can hardly see why you would now.”

Geralt hummed.

“Anyway.” Jaskier rolled and twisted and turned until he managed to flop out of the V and onto the floor. “Did you find one?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Geralt shifted on the mattress. He did like this one, but the name was a little… odd.

The bard wandered over and threw himself onto the bed. He draped his body over Geralt’s, forming a cross with their torsos.

“This is nice.”

“You’re doing it wrong, bard.”

“No,” Jaskier took one of Geralt’s hands and pillowed it under his cheek. “I don’t think I am.”

They laid like that for a while, quiet, thinking, enjoying the serenity of the other’s breathing. Eryk had been playing games on his phone since they started looking, and didn’t bother to say anything from behind the desk across the store. The other woman still hadn’t come out of her office. There was no one else in the building.

It was nice. Various songs as bland instrumentals droned through the store’s old speakers, every so often plucking a scrap of recognition from Geralt’s tired brain. He traced calloused fingertips along the length of Jaskier’s spine, letting the calm domesticity of the moment take over.

After a couple of minutes, an oddly familiar tune began playing. Geralt’s lips turned up in a borderline gleeful smile.

“Hey, Jaskier, they’re playing our song.”

“Mm?” The bard glanced up at him in confusion, having partially dozed off. He wrinkled his brows as he listened. “Our s- oh, you _rat!”_

Geralt’s laughter rang through the store as Jaskier crawled up his body and pulled a pillow out from under his boyfriend. 

“I cannot _believe_ you!” he cried, slamming the pillow down over Geralt’s head. The witcher braced his forearms in front of his face to prevent Jaskier from smothering him, but the bard continued, undeterred. “I have written you-” _whack_ “-entire albums-” _whack_ “-and you have the audacity-” _whack_ “-to say that fucking ‘ _Fishmonger’s Daughter-’” whack_ “-is our song?” _Whack whack._ “Why, I ought to murder you right now-” _whack_ “-you ungrateful, little-”

“Everything alright over there?” Eryk called. 

“We-” Geralt stuck his head out around Jaskier’s torso, only for Jaskier to shove the pillow over his face and hold it there. 

“We’re doing wonderfully, thank you,” Jaskier called. “Just. Peachy.”

The piano cover of “Fishmonger’s Daughter” continued playing cheerily. Geralt pinched Jaskier’s stomach and thighs until Jaskier let up and rolled off.

“I hate that Yennefer increased your strength,” Geralt grumbled, wrenching the pillow from Jaskier’s hands to toss it on the bed behind him. 

“What, would you have preferred she left me defenseless?” Jaskier laid back and pulled the grouchy witcher into his arms. His fit seemed to have drained him of all animosity. 

“You were nearly blind.” Geralt rested his head above Jaskier’s heart and wrapped strong arms around his waist. “You didn’t need everything else on top of it. She could have just cured your eyes.”

Jaskier shrugged, running a hand through long white hair. “I don’t know, you haven’t been complaining about my increased stamina lately. If anything, you’ve been quite appreciative.” 

“Shut up.” The witcher poked Jaskier in the side, hard. It didn’t even garner a flinch.

“Nah. You like it.”

Geralt grumbled wordlessly into the bard’s chest. The sound edged suspiciously into a purr when Jaskier scratched his scalp.

“Fishmonger’s Daughter” ended, replaced by another annoying familiar yet unplaceable song. A contented sigh slipped past Jaskier’s lips.

“I like this bed,” he said, running a thumb along Geralt’s jawline. “What’s it called?”

“Kracken,” was the mumbled reply. Despite his best efforts, Geralt’s eyelids were growing heavy. They hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. It’d been too hot, and they’d been too busy breaking their mattress and bedframe.

“Kracken?” Jaskier repeated. “Why would they-” His hands paused in Geralt’s hair. The scarred limbs wrapped and tangled around him tightened momentarily. “Ah. I see.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

“Well, I like it. The warm tone of the bedframe matches with our bedroom, too, so, really, if you’re alright with it, I think we should buy it.”

Geralt mumbled his agreement. 

“Perfect! Hey, uh, salesboy!”

“Eryk,” Geralt supplied helpfully, eyelids drooping closed.

“Eryk!” Jaskier called. “We’ll take this one.”

The kid chuckled. “Okay, sirs. I’ll print your bill.”

“Good,” the bard murmured. He ghosted his thumb over Geralt’s cheekbone. The witcher squeezed him softly in response. “I like this one.”

Geralt sighed. Yeah.

Yeah, he did too.

Miraculously, there was a matching set of mattress and bedframe available to be delivered on the same day they bought it, which was good, considering the old one was past the point of no return. The two of them managed to guide it up the steps of their little cottage at the top of a hill overlooking the coast and into their bedroom. The sad remains of the old bed had been tossed out just hours before, carted off to be repurposed into some other project that would hopefully go to someone who needed it more. 

Now, the new bed was in the place of the old one, fresh sheets spread out over the mattress and ready to be christened. However, Ciri had decided it was “too cold” in her room and had instead burrowed her way into Geralt’s side. She’d been more clingy lately but refused to acknowledge anything was wrong when asked. Geralt suspected that she was finally allowing herself to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last year or so, and was quietly processing several months of trauma in the only way she knew how. It wasn’t healthy by any means, even Geralt knew that, but who was he to lecture her on such things? He barely knew where to begin with his own problems. 

He tightened his grip around her. He hoped it was enough to calm her mind, even if just for a moment.

Jaskier lay curled beneath the witcher’s other arm, fiddling with his rough hands.

“Is she asleep?”

The witcher listened to her deep, slow breathing. “Yes.”

Ciri frowned minutely. Geralt wondered what she was dreaming of.

Jaskier nodded. “Good.” He cleared his throat. 

“You know,” he whispered, careful not to wake the sleeping child, “You never said it back in the store today.”

Geralt’s attention jerked over to Jaskier. “What?”

“When I said ‘I love you.’ And then you threw me on the bed.” Blue eyes were fixed on their joined hands, steadily avoiding looking up.

“Jaskier,” Geralt felt his brows furrow, “I’ve loved you for years.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed heavily. “I just… we don’t say it a lot, you know? And that’s okay, we don’t have to, and you love me, I know you do, but I…” He swallowed, and Geralt’s heart lurched. “I never really heard it growing up. And whenever I heard it after that it was always a lie. Spur of the moment type thing, or a ploy to get me to relax so I wouldn’t suspect when they found someone else. So I think I just… forget, sometimes. That I am loved. And sometimes when you don’t say it, I… let myself get too worked up about it.”

Geralt frowned. “Why didn’t you ever say anything about it?”

“I’m saying it now.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt squeezed his arms around the bard’s shoulders, encouraging him to meet his eyes. “I’m not… good with words. But I’m sorry you feel this way.” He hoped the tilt of his lips was a warm smile and not nearly as awkward as it felt. “And I do love you. I’m sorry I haven’t said it enough. I’m sorry _we_ haven’t said it enough.”

Blue eyes shone with what Geralt prayed were happy tears. “That was a lot of words for you, Mr. Witcher.”

Geralt pressed his forehead to Jaskier’s. “Anything for you, bard.”

He was sure the fond look in his eyes would’ve sent Vesemir into a fit. 

After a heartbeat or two, Jaskier pulled back.

“I still can’t believe you said ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ was our song.”

“You were playing it when we first met!” Geralt protested. “It fits!”

“That’s not the part you were supposed to remember, asshole,” Jaskier retorted. “I also had bread in my pants; there were so many other things for you to fixate on.”

Geralt snorted. “So I should have remembered ‘bread pants’ instead?”

“No, Goddess, no.” The bard shuddered at the memory, and Geralt couldn’t smother chuckle that reverberated in his own chest. “You were supposed to remember, oh, I don’t know, my beautiful blue eyes, or my dashing doublet, or how nice my fingers looked on my lute, not the fucking _song.”_

Geralt hummed. He did remember those things, but from about two weeks into traveling together. He didn’t actually remember much from their first official meeting. He hadn’t been paying that much attention.

“I mean, honestly, I propositioned you almost three sentences in, and yet you remember the ‘Fishmonger’s Gods Damned Daughter,’ like, really Geralt. Do you even remember that?”

Geralt did not, in fact, remember being propositioned that early on, though he was sure it had been quite memorable. He hesitated for a beat too long.

“Unbelievable!” Jaskier dropped Geralt’s hand to throw his arms into the air. “Un-fucking-believable! You’re such a clod!”

Geralt’s laugh fumbled on the way out. He pretended not to choke on it.

“You are a bit of a clod,” Ciri mumbled, snuggling closer. 

The bard twisted to face Geralt, arms still raised, a triumphant light in his eyes. “See? The princess agrees with me and she doesn’t even know what I’m on about.”

“No, I heard the story,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “It’s horribly unromantic.”

Geralt scoffed. “Since when have you cared about romance?”

“I don’t.” She leveled her eyes with his, green against yellow. “But Jaskier does. And so do you, sometimes.”

“She’s not wrong,” Jaskier sang. 

Geralt rolled his eyes and halfheartedly smacked him in the stomach with the back of his hand. “You both are insufferable.”

Ciri laid back down and snuggled against his chest. “Must be a family trait.”

“Ha!” This time it was Jaskier’s turn to hit Geralt. “She’s right.”

“Wait,” Geralt pushed the bard’s hand away, watching the girl intently. “Family?”

She opened one eye. “It’s not as though destiny really gave us a choice, is it?”

“No, but,” Geralt rolled the words around on his tongue before speaking them. “You’ve never called us that before.” 

“Well. Now I have.” She closed the eye. “Can we sleep now?”

Jaskier winced sheepishly. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.” He tucked himself in along Geralt’s side. “Love you both.”

Ciri hummed in agreement.

Geralt shifted against the mattress, between the two bodies sandwiching him in. The breeze of the new air conditioning unit whistled through the vents and kissed over his cheeks, cooling the room. It was so different than it had been the night before. Geralt loved it.

He loved them.

“I love you both, too,” he said. Both bard and princess snuggled closer in response.

That night, the three of them slept better than any of them had in years. When he woke in the morning, Geralt lay there, still bracketed by two warm bodies, both sound asleep. He reflected on the past two decades, all they'd brought and all they'd taken. He'd lived more then than he ever had before. He'd grown, and so had his heart.

There had been so many beds they could have chosen; so many little families they could have made.

Geralt thought that he couldn't be happier with anything other than this. 

Geralt thought right.

**Author's Note:**

> just to clarify, yennefer is part of that lil happy family, but bed-sharing is not her thing and i’m not even sure if she’s in the house at this point, so she is not currently present, but she counts. she absolutely counts. 
> 
> anyway, this was written alongside [a_static_world](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world)'s fic [hayfever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784072), which is adorable and fluffy and amazing and you should definitely go check it out!!! it's not in the same universe as my fic at all, but we both wanted to do one of the Bad Prompts, so we did.
> 
> say hi in the comments or on [tumblr](https://anoddconstellationofthoughts.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
